


The Adventures of Colonel Gunderson and the Bad Cadets

by Letterblade



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (not how you expect), Aftercare, Ageplay, BDSM, Begging, Blindfolds, Bondage, Catharsis, Chastity Device, Cock & Ball Torture, Dirty Talk, Edgeplay, Electrical Play, F/F, F/M, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Forced Exhibitionism, Forced Orgasm, Gags, Genderfuck, Heavy Painplay, Humiliation, Impact Play, M/M, Military Roleplay, Multi, Objectification, Pidge Tops Everybody, Polydins, Sex Toys, Suspension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-06-12 19:53:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15347457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Letterblade/pseuds/Letterblade
Summary: It’s time for Colonel Gunderson’s personal review and disciplinary session for exceptional bad cadets, and this grizzled old cane-tapping hardass has his work cut out for him. There’s Cadet Kogane, that walking mess of disciplinary issues who needs to be whipped into shape. Cadet McClain, who needs to learn that he’s got toearnwhat he wants, not just get it by wiggling his booty. Cadet Garrett, all too used to keeping his head down, who needs to open up to his true potential. Cadet Shirogane, humble golden boy, who needs to recognize what other people see in him and admit his innermost desires. And Cadet Smith, proud, perfect, and always put together, who needs to learn a few things about losing control.Or, Team Polydins does an extremely silly and yet unexpectedly intense roleplay scene in which Pidge doms the hell out of all of them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Handwave, handwave, everybody's grown up, polydins is a thing, individual intense relationships within polydins is also a thing, like I may have self-indulgently referenced my own Allura/Lance fic while also kind of contradicting it, whatever.
> 
> This is kinky as fuck, not heavily beta'd, and just for fun. Pretty sure I know where this is going and it won't accumulate more tags, but can't entirely promise. Don't read it unless you want that, and if you do, have fun! (And oops, I forgot to make it multiple chapters. Three or four parts total probably. Hopefully three.)

Pidge takes one last look in her mirror.

The talc-power gray streaks are about as good as she’s going to get them. So’s the hair gel she’d borrowed from Lance. She hasn’t slicked herself flat, that would be ridiculous, but it’s tamed the usual fluffy mess into something at least vaguely manly. And helped set the gray streaks at her temples.

The eyepatch looks badass, and is really tempting, but she’s pretty sure she’ll get sick of it in about five minutes, and also the lack of depth perception might make some things a little less safe or controlled than they should be. Really she should also have a cigar, but _ew_.

She squares her shoulders, draws herself up to her full height. At least the heavy boots give her an inch. And they’re practically invincible. And _comfy._ She’s going to be wearing Yalkuzian military surplus boots all the damn time.

They’d gotten a bulk box of fatigues and other sundries for incredibly cheap during a trade on the whole lion road trip, and it had languished in Yellow’s belly for a long while before Pidge had remembered it. During the whole punchy, lying-around-in-a-naked-pile conversation that had led to this ridiculousness. And maybe a few conversations since.

 _Pidge_ , of course, has the hat, even if she’s in the same fatigues as the rest. The hat, and the gray at her temples, and the sketched-on sideburns. She’s contoured herself a little, because Lance’s rambly instructions on stage makeup during the dark Voltron Show days have apparently finally come in handy.

She squints. It _almost_ looks passable.

“Colonel Gunderson, reporting for duty,” she snaps. And pouts. And tries again. Is she _ever_ going to be anything other than tiny or squeaky? Fucking hell. “Colonel Gunderson.” That has a little more force to it. She thinks. Here’s hoping she doesn’t blow her voice.

Here’s hoping this whole thing doesn’t turn out just—laughable, or too much, or whatever.

But somehow nobody’s backed down.

Pidge jerks her chin up, takes a few paces just to feel the swagger in her army boots, and goes to peruse her cadets.

 

* * *

 

They’ve all actually turned up in the fatigues.

Pidge savors that first victory for a moment. She’d chosen the sizes carefully, at least from their limited selection. Lance and Keith are both drowning a little, their fine figures lost in baggy cloth. Keith doesn’t seem to notice. Lance doesn’t seem best pleased. Especially next to Shiro, who fills his out perfectly like a Greek god, because, well, _Shiro_. He’s even given himself a fresh trim, undercut perfectly buzzed.

Allura’s is a few sizes too small and close to bursting at the chest. She holds her chin high, cheeks already warm. She’s left her crown behind, Pidge notices, and Allura almost _never_ leaves her crown behind. It’s a wordless invitation, Pidge thinks, after more than one night where she’s pushed on the princess’ pride.

The monochrome dark green is doing Hunk no favors. Mostly he looks like a wall. A nervous wall. Also the boots give them _all_ an extra inch. Oh well.

“‘Ten _shun_ ,” she barks.

They all snap to it.

Pidge has to actually bite the inside of her cheek not to grin in glee. Colonel Gunderson does not grin in glee. Colonel Gunderson takes his damn time setting down his heavy bag of equipment and walking the line without a word, letting them stew, cane tapping against his thigh.

Somebody, probably Hunk from the handwriting, has actually _made them name stripes._ Pidge keeps biting the inside of her cheek. Holy shit. They’re actually doing this. Bonus points, she knows what to call Allura. Apparently Alforson was in fact too weird for this sort of thing.

Shiro is standing like a rock, perfect down to his thumbs, face blank and eyes dead forward. Keith is a bit slouched, diffident, already playing at disrespect. Hunk keeps looking unsure. Lance’s eyes dart around the room, checking out Pidge’s body and cane more than he’d probably want to admit. Allura is just as rigid as Shiro, but she’s breathing a little fast, and Pidge can tell because each lungful makes the gap between her buttons open and close a little.

Pidge finishes her pace down the line, plants her boots, and draws herself up. “What a motley crew I’ve got today,” she drawls.

Keith tunes out with a quiet huff. She decides to let him for now.

“Some of you know why you’re here. Some of you are probably wondering what you’ve done to draw my special attention. Smith and Shirogane for example. Top of your class. Never failed a damn thing. Well, you’re here to learn something new about yourselves. To face a different kind of challenge. One you can’t just coast through on raw talent.”

“Sir,” Shiro acknowledges crisply, and Allura echoes his precedent with only a moment’s hesitation.

“Kogane.” Keith keeps tuning her out. “I’d get into your history of disciplinary issues, but I don’t have all day. Suffice it to say, you’re gonna have to prove to me why I should waste my time on you.” Maybe she’s tone-mixing, she thinks. No, Colonel Gunderson can totally be the kind of guy who uses _suffice it to say_ and _gonna_ in the same sentence. Colonel Gunderson is sixty-three years old and does what he wants.

Shiro’s eyes dart right, towards Keith, once, and Keith just clenches his jaw.

“Sir,” he says, no soul in it, like he’s already given up that fight.

Pidge leaves that for later. She’ll want mostly personal focus on Keith, she thinks, if her carefully balanced strategy proves viable. “McClain,” she barks, shifting her focus. “I can already see you fluttering your eyelashes at me. Don’t think you can get out of this just by whoring your ass. You’re going to have to earn your place the hard way.”

“Sir,” Lance says, somehow managing to make it sound both flirtatious and trepidatious at once. Because _Lance_. Of _course_ he’s into this and playing it to the hilt.

“And Garrett. You’re the most confused of all, no doubt. Perfectly average Garrett.”

Hunk opens his mouth, thinks better of it, and closes it with a thunderously serious expression—which on Hunk mostly looks constipated, his face just works like that. Pidge tries not to look too fond.

“You’ve got potential. You just need to learn to apply yourself. If you’re asking yourself why you’re here? You should be able to discover that for yourself when I’m through with you. If not—well.” She gives him a slot-eyed stare of menace.

“Sir,” Hunk croaks.

Pidge backs off a pace, bringing her cane up to tap it against her hand. “Now. Let’s begin.” She sets I’ll Make a Man Out Of You on loud repeat on the MP3 player of her brain and squares her shoulders. “This is going to be a workshop of sorts. A series of challenges for you to overcome, separately and together. I assume you’re capable of basic discipline and obedience. If not, I’ll fix that.” Cane tap. “If you need to tap out?” She beats an SOS against her palm. “Otherwise I expect your _full_ attention. Understood?”

Shiro, of course, leads the chorus of “Sir,” but they all more-or-less manage to join in time.

“I’m going to start this off by issuing each of you a personal challenge. No two will be the same. This is informed by everything I’ve read of your performance records, your psychological profile. For some of you, this will be a gateway, a first mountain to overcome. For others, it will be a restriction that will guide you through this entire exercise. But first.” She fixes her best glare on Allura. “Smith. Forward.”

Allura—the only one of them never subjected to the Garrison’s drills, however half-assed and theatrical they were—has a bit of a conversation in glances with Shiro before she sorts herself out and comes forward, remaining at attention three paces in front of the line.

Pidge raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, and circles her. There are a couple of reasons she’s picking on Allura first. Like a whole list. One of them is _totally_ that she’s the next shortest team member, which puts her the closest to eye level for staredowns. “Your challenge, Smith, has a unique aspect. If I issued yours last, it would be trivially easy. On the other hand, if I started with you, it would be almost impossible. So consider this part of your test. When should I issue it?”

Allura’s eyes widen a touch. Then she lifts her chin and snaps up the bait like a goddamn alligator. Just as planned. “Now, sir. I can do it.”

Pidge lets herself smile for the very first time as Colonel Gunderson, small and smug. With luck, not the last. She hooks her toolbag over with one foot, tucking her cane down her boot to free up her hands. “Put these on,” she says dismissively, pulling out a full set of magcuffs, wrists and ankles.

Allura takes them one by one. Shoves up her sleeves to fit the ones on her wrists. Then pauses. “Over my boots? Sir?”

Pidge considers the mental image of Allura struggling through what she’s got planned with her boots still on, which is admittedly a nice image, because seeing someone as femme as Allura done up like this is nice. On the other hand, toes curling. Dilemma. “Take them off first. Socks too.”

The fatigue pants strain as she bends. Lance makes an appreciative noise from the line. Allura actually fumbles. Rips the laces as Pidge taps her foot, clearly conscious of holding things up. Once she’s got the cuffs locked round her bare ankles, Pidge points to one of the low, built in benches lining the room. “Sit.”

Allura catches a breath, like she’s got some idea where this is going, and walks over with brittle pride, and sits.

Pidge locks her down with a tap of a button, trapping her with arms and legs both spread wide, facing the line.

One of her front buttons actually pops off as Pidge gets the rest of her supplies and closes on her, and she makes a disgruntled noise, then a shaky gasp as she notices what Pidge is holding. The bright red ball gag’s in plain view, dangling from her hand, and there’s at least one strangled sound from behind her that she’s pretty sure is Lance. The real piece de resistance is in one of her cargo pockets.

Allura whines when Pidge catches her by the chin, and squirms in her cuffs, but doesn’t fight her hard. Which is just as well, Pidge might not actually literally be able to get her jaw open otherwise. The gag’s big for her, forcing her mouth wide open, with just a little give to make it nice to chew on as she suffers. Allura glares up at her as she adjusts to it, cheeks pinking.

“For someone with top marks,” Pidge says dismissively, “you’re abyssmal when it comes to uniform code.” A few more tugs pop a few more buttons, until her top’s open almost to her waist, baring her breasts.

She’d done it. She hadn’t worn underwear. Pidge is _tickled pink_ , but of course Colonel Gunderson doesn’t show such things. Colonel Gunderson just opens Cadet Smith’s fly as casually as he’d pick up a report.

“No underwear,” Colonel Gunderson observes, judgement dripping from his voice. “It would appear I chose the right challenge for you.”

Allura makes a garbled, thoroughly disgruntled noise into her gag, arms straining. Pidge can see the muscles in her flat stomach clenching as she struggles, it’s very nice. Definitely made the right choice to leave the eyepatch behind. She pulls out the payload from her cargo pocket: Allura’s favorite external vibrator of the ones Pidge has built over the years. Shaped to tuck right up where it needs to go. Powerful. Remote controlled.

Allura’s eyes go wide.

“I think you catch my drift,” Pidge says smugly, and slides it into her pants, tucking it home against her clit. Allura’s already hot and damp, squirming at her touch. Pidge gets her hand a little wet as she makes sure everything’s ready to go, then zips her back up with an indulgent smile that _might_ be a little too gremlin for Colonel Gunderson, but she damn well cannot help herself on the rare occasions that she really gets Allura at her mercy.

“Now,” she says, bringing every bit of command she’s gathered to bear. “Don’t come until I’ve gone down the rest of the line.”

She thumbs on the remote. A slow rollercoaster from the lowest intensity to just about the highest. The one she _knows_ drives Allura absolutely crazy.

If she’d gone fourth, third, she’d have had a chance. But first? Allura’s been set up to fail. By her own pride. And with the way her eyes widen over her gag, she knows it all too well.

Pidge holds her gaze as the first rollercoaster climbs, crests, falls. Savors her muffled wail. Then turns on her heel and marches back to the line.

First one down. Easiest in some ways. The hardest—well, the hardest she’s going to do next. Because if the whole scene comes tumbling down, it’s probably going to be right now, and then she can put Allura in a blanket and go pretend it never happened. The hardest in terms of how hard she knows she needs to push him. In terms of how delicate the balance is. In terms of how fucking tall and inviolate and hard to stare down he is.

“Shirogane,” she barks.

Shiro takes three paces forward, snaps his heels back together.

He’s still impassive, though she can see his throat working as he swallows once, twice. A bit of a pink rim to his ears. Behind him, Hunk is saucer-eyed and flushing dark, fidgeting with his pants leg and trying not to look at anything. Keith is keeping a careful eye on Shiro, brows furrowed. Lance is jittering in his spot, staring at Allura while trying to pretend he isn’t. That, Pidge considers, might be a thing to keep an eye on. They’re—well, they are how they are, Allura had fastened her right magcuff right over the friendship bracelet she wears that matches the knotted collar around Lance’s throat. He’s not used to seeing her as anything but his queen.

“If I didn’t want you to appreciate the view,” she prompts all of them, “I would’ve cuffed Smith with her back to you.”

That’s mostly for Allura’s benefit, really. Because being spread out on display as she fails and comes uncontrollably is _exactly_ where Pidge wants to push her tonight.

She falls back to business, pausing first to reach up and wipe her fingers on Shiro’s face, just under his scar. Shiro doesn’t move, but his eyes widen as Allura’s scent hits him, and his ears grow a shade more vibrant.

“And speaking of views,” she starts. She doesn’t give Shiro the same circle-around—she knows how jumpy he can be with people at his back if he’s trying to sink into a scene. “Shirogane, our golden boy. Don’t worry, I’m not going to cuff you down next to Smith. I don’t need to break your pride—you don’t have any.” She studies him another moment, then starts her first push. “Garrett. Would you like to see this man naked?”

Hunk gulps audibly, hesitating. “I…yes, yes, sir.”

Shiro drags a deep breath through his nose, a line of tension running through him. They both know _exactly_ where she’s pushing.

“McClain?” Pidge calls.

“Of course, sir,” Lance says, almost fervent. “He’s gorgeous.”

Shiro’s flush starts to spread to his cheeks, and his lips move silently, but his discipline holds; unspeaking, unmoving, he swallows it.

“Kogane?”

“Yes, sir,” Keith says, without hesitation, almost gentle. Because he can play stubborn ass to the hilt most of the time, but it’s _Shiro_ and he’s like that.

“Smith?”

“Ieee-mm!” Allura squeaks between moans.

“I’m going to take that as a yes,” Pidge drawls. “Shirogane, strip down. Everything.” She is going to have to keep _somebody_ in their boots besides herself, she’s liking this boot thing, but it was never going to be Shiro. No, he’s going to be the first one naked, probably the only one naked for a while.

Shiro hesitates only a moment, but his “Yes, sir,” is raw and low. Pidge decides to let that go, given how hard she’s hitting him right out the gate, and just watches him appraisingly. Shiro strips unfussily, with caution in place of eroticism, but that still results in a nice unpeeling effect as he bares his sculpted, battered glory. Part of the glory, of course, to Pidge’s eyes, is his right arm, because she and Hunk did a _bang-up_ job on that. But ego aside, the rest is damn nice.

There’s a moment of hanging silence as he finishes folding his clothes and placing them next to his boots, filled only by some hapless, desperate noise from Allura as she shudders at the peak of her rollercoaster.

Allura’s already struggling not to come

Shiro’s already hard, and his cheeks darken as he straightens under everyone’s eyes, revealing his cock. Which twitches. And he falls right back to attention, thumbs against his bare, muscular thighs.

No maniacal giggling, Pidge tells herself firmly. No maniacal giggling. Not in character. But holy crap, Shiro isn’t just going along with this. He’s fast-approaching rock hard from—well, _something_ or another, it might be calling her sir a lot, it might be Allura squirming and moaning in the background, but Pidge is starting to think it’s the objectification. Which is a goddamn minefield, she knows, given his history, but he’s on a clear square and loving it. Oh, boy.

“Enjoying the view, cadets?”

There’s a jumbled chorus of “Sir, yes, sir,” from the other three.

“Your challenge, Shirogane,” she says, appraising him, “is in equal parts a challenge to the rest of you. In fact, it’s a rule for all of you. He can touch you, and I may well order him to. But you can’t touch him. Nothing is going to happen to Shirogane unless he begs for it.”

Startled, barely audible, Shiro breathes, “Fuck.”

Allura garbles something indignant.

“Yes, Smith, this doesn’t much apply to you,” Pidge says. “Now focus. Don’t disappoint me.”

Allura whines.

“Sir,” Shiro says, voice just a bit rough. “Is that all for now, sir?”

Pidge lets him stew for just a moment, standing buck-naked in front of the line, then nods. “Yes. Return to the line and await further orders.” She pauses for a moment, considering, as he steps back into line, then adds, “And kneel.”

Shiro takes a breath deep enough that she can see it all down his torso, then sinks down. His habit of kneeling with his knees spread wide, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice, is really quite nice at times like these.

Keith’s hand inches off his pants seam like he wants to touch him, but he stops himself.

Shiro has not been given permission to wipe his face, so he has not wiped his face, because that is the kind of man he is.

Pidge takes a glance over her shoulder. Allura is white-knuckled in her cuffs, breathing hard through her nose as she concentrates, trying to hold herself back. Wisps of hair sticking to her forehead, eyes narrowed.

Two down. Three to go.

Pidge decides to throw Allura a smidge of hope, because it really doesn’t matter which of Hunk and Lance she does next. Except for time.

“Garrett.”

Hunk steps forward, jaw clenching into full determined constipation, which is ruined a little by his deep flush. “Sir.”

“What do you want, Garrett?”

Hunk blinks, constipation fading into confusion. “You mean, like, in general, or tonight, or right now, or as a bad cadet, or like…uh, clarification, sir?”

“This is why you need to develop your _character_ ,” Lance stage whispers. “Focus on your motivation, dude, your motivation.”

“Right! Uh. Yes. Not burritos then. Sir.”

Pidge decides it’s time to tap her cane against her hand again. At least Hunk she’s confident in staring down under these circumstances, despite his size. “Resoundingly motivational, cadet,” she says dryly. “Perhaps I can provide some guidance. Your challenge is also a rule that will be in place for the entire session, but one that concerns you and you alone. When you experience something you like, or see something you might like done to you, you must say so. Not only that, you must say why you like it. Do you understand?”

Hunk’s eyes widen as he parses that, flush deepening. “Wow, uh. That’s.” He swallows hard. Pure Hunk. For all he’s focused on what other people like—for all he can be a nosy fucking _bitch_ about what other people like, Mr. Diary-Reader—he’s still a stubborn clam about himself. In some ways, Pidge thinks, she might be going relatively easy on him. But in some ways not so much. “Like. All the time? Even if somebody is trying to talk? Can I just do, like, top-level? Sir?”

“Use your judgement. I assume you’re capable of that. Though if you are concerned, feel free to provide me with a demonstration.” Which of course means doing it when everyone’s paying a _lot_ of attention. Which of course means that suddenly Hunk is paying a lot of attention to everybody else.

Pidge has thought a lot about attention while planning this. The power it has. The way it flusters Shiro and Hunk, the one subliminally, the other overtly, because of the ways they’re conscious of their physical appearances. The way Lance seeks it, takes pleasure from it, can’t be denied too much but can, to a certain extent, be strung along by it. The way Allura basks in it gracefully as long as she _is_ graceful, as long as she’s in control of her presentation. The way Keith acts like it doesn’t affect him much one way or the other, but has those little things that he’s intensely private about. Attention is one of her greatest weapons, especially when trying to manage all five bad cadets.

All the thought pays off in Allura’s breathless shudder when Hunk says, “Okay, let’s see…Allura, I, uh, the way your chest is, well, heaving, wow that is an absolute cliche, heaving bosoms, I sound like Lance, but it’s really nice.”

“ _Hey_ ,” says Lance.

“It’s not like I can’t see your boner,” Hunk whispers fiercely.

“How can you see my boner, these pants are like six yards around,” Lance hisses back.

“In my _soul_. Bonervision.”

Pidge cracks her cane against the side of her boot with a resounding smack.

Everyone squares up and falls silent, silent enough to hear Allura’s ragged gasps and thin whine as the vibrator ramps up again.

“You may continue, Garrett,” Pidge says into the ringing silence.

Hunk freezes up for a moment. “Then…uh, Shiro, I know it’s kind of awkward for you sometimes, but seriously, your back muscles are amazing, and your shoulders, it’s just, your everything is just amazing. Also thighs. Okay, but nothing is actually happening, I’m just telling people how hot they are. Sir. Those boots look really good on you, sir. Like you stand well in them. All confident and…booty…”

Pidge _mostly_ manages to bite back a laugh, because yeah, she’s keeping these boots, and also Hunk. Damn it, why is he cute? “Get your shit together, Garrett,” she says, as sternly as she can, trying _very_ hard not to think of Colonel Booty Gunderson. “And? See anything you want?”

Hunk’s eyes go wide, and he swallows audibly before managing, “It’s, uh, the, the handcuffs are. Nice.”

Pidge taps her toe.

“I said it!” Hunk pouts.

Pidge keeps tapping her toe.

“Oh, right, you want me to—Jesus Harriet Christ, Pi—Colonel Gunderson—sir.” She’s pretty sure she could fry an egg on Hunk’s face right now, but he pulls himself a little further into attention, gathers himself thunderously, and barks, “Because I like being held, sir!”

Pidge narrows her eyes. “It’s a _start._ But if you don’t step it up during direct action, there will be consequences.”

She taps her cane on her palm. Hunk’s eyes follow it balefully. He has a love-hate relationship with pain, Pidge knows, with a heaping side of whining. Certainly love-hate enough to use as an incentive if she needs to. And it would be interesting to hear what comes out of his mouth then.

“On the other hand,” she continues. “Shirogane.”

Shiro’s head jerks up a touch. “Sir?”

“I have a task to delegate.”

“Of course, sir.” He’s holding her gaze steadily, breath coming fast and a little deep. He’s keeping himself centered, of course. She doesn’t expect that to fall apart any time soon, and usually it’s safer with Shiro to let him dissolve at his own pace.

“If, by your judgement, Garrett is performing his task exceptionally, provide positive reinforcement.”

Shiro takes another steadying breath, and licks his lips, barely noticeable. “What form of positive reinforcement, sir?”

“The form is at your discretion. But use his reports as a guideline.”

“You’re just fishing for data,” Hunk mutters, surly.

“And you, _cadet_ , are fishing for a second round of what I have in store for Kogane.” She reaches out to trace the tip of the cane over his chest, honing in on a nipple, and Hunk makes a disgruntled noise and tries to shrink back as much as he can without falling out of position. Which is a surprising amount. Hunk sort of defies physics when he’s incentivized.

“Like that’s a surprise,” Keith mutters.

“Fall in,” Pidge barks, dismissive.

“Sir,” Hunk says quickly, and practically teleports back to the line, a lovely shade of sunset purple, looking nervously between her, Shiro, Allura, back to Shiro. Shiro loses eyes-forward just enough to look up at him, as best as he can around Keith. Then swallows and re-establishes discipline.

Allura, now, is rigid and shaking like a leaf, voice clamped down to a desperate whimper, gnawing hard on her gag, like she can keep herself together just by not reacting.

“McClain,” Pidge calls.

“Sir,” Lance says, legging it forward. He’s flushed, eyes wide, clearly worked up. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“You’d very much like an easy answer to that question, wouldn’t you?”

Lance maybe senses the trap, hesitates, then keeps playing his role to the hilt. “The answer’s up to you, sir,” he hedges. “If you need proof of my skills—”

Pidge snorts, cutting him off. “Typical. You’ve got a lot to learn, kid. And it takes a lot to impress me. So let me ask, before we begin. Is there anyone in this room you wouldn’t spread your legs for?”

Lance flushes. It’s a slightly sore spot, she knows; before this whole fuck-everything shitstorm of feelings and junk got sorted out into all messing around in a pile at will, Lance had been the first to admit to himself that he pretty much had some sort of crush on every single paladin. Back before he thought he’d had a chance with _anybody_. Yeah, he’d been emo about that. “No, sir,” he says, voice a little raw.

“Is there anyone in this room you wouldn’t get on your knees for? Wouldn’t let come all over your face?”

“No, sir.” The casual dirty talk from gruff old Colonel Gunderson—well, if any of them actually think of her as Colonel Gunderson and not Pidge in a hat—seems to be having quite an effect. Not just on Lance.

“Is there anyone in this room you wouldn’t beg for a chance to fuck?”

“No, sir,” Lance says, not quite meeting anybody’s eyes.

“Just as I thought. Well, I planned your challenge first.” She paces to her toolbag, pulling out a jar. Much like with Allura, the piece de resistance is in one of her pockets, but she’ll need to do a little preparation. “After all, I had to bring a few things. Drop your pants.”

“Sir,” says Lance, unbuckling his belt with eager obedience. The pants won’t stay up without one, in fact. It’s part of the reason Pidge had picked this size for him.

Keith, Hunk, and Shiro all look at the jar in bewilderment. It rattles as Pidge carries it over. Ice water.

Lance realizes it a few seconds before she crouches before him and uncaps it.

“Oh shit,” he breathes. “Oh shit shit oh shit fuck please don’t.”

“Close your mouth and take it, cadet,” Pidge says dismissively, because she’s watched Allura pretty much reduce Lance to his component atoms, she knows his begging doesn’t mean much unless it’s backed up by a slow-down signal.

The other boys still haven’t caught on, and Hunk looks straight-up worried. Allura gives a ragged whine of recognition, because Allura had in fact been the one to tell Pidge about this trick when discussing mean things one can do to Lance’s dick.

Lance is quivering, hands fisted in the hem of his too-long shirt. He hasn’t quite stopped his litany of _shit fuck shit_ , but it’s barely audible, through his teeth. It’s a very nice erection, red and full and trying to slap his stomach as Pidge catches it ungently.

“Garrett,” she says. “Hold his arms behind his back.”

“Sir,” Hunk blurts, and scrambles a little. Lance doesn’t fight him much, just wriggles helplessly once Hunk’s got a good grip on him. Pidge plants a boot on Lance’s puddled trousers to keep him from kicking, and she knows he’s not going _anywhere_ with Hunk locking his arms behind him like that.

She flips open the lid of the jar and dunks him in.

Lance lets out a whining, half-bitten off yowl, boots shuffling in his trousers, writhing against Hunk. Reflexes and blood flow run their course. Shiro and Keith are both watching him a little wide-eyed. Allura’s making strangled animal noises, and Pidge looks over her shoulder to make sure she’s not choking as Lance’s dick tries its merry best to retreat into his body.

Not choking. Just fraying to bits.

“Stop whining, cadet,” Pidge says dismissively, turning her focus back to making Lance’s day miserable. “It’ll warm up again soon enough. I just needed to make sure it fit.”

She pulls the cock cage from her pocket and starts tucking Lance’s withered cock away.

“You’re _mean_ ,” Hunk blurts. His grip maybe loosened; Lance pulls once, hard, before Hunk gets him snug again and he sags, resigned to his fate.

“Is that a report, Garrett?” she asks dryly, snapping it closed at the base of Lance’s scrotum.

“N-no, sir, just an observation, out of line, you knew that already.”

Pidge locks it onto him, one of those clip-and-key electronic space locks she’s gotten fond of for this sort of thing. Easy to break into if a key gets lost, at least for her. Easy to change the codes and key alike.

Lance looks down at his caged cock, catching his breath, more than a little wretched.

Allura gives one rising, desperate scream.

If she hadn’t tried to fight it, let herself have a quick little orgasm maybe somewhere during that chat with Hunk, it would have been, well, a quick little orgasm. But of course she’d fought it. Of course she’d tried to hold it back, let it build until it completely shattered her control.

Allura comes for what seems like a minute solid, until her howls trail off into voiceless rattles, until she’s straining so hard Pidge hears _metal_ creak, until she’s soaked through her pants to the bench under her. Until she’s wrung out, almost dry-sobbing, trying to turn her face away, burning with shame because nobody in the room had been able to take their eyes off her.

Pidge doesn’t bother finding the remote.

She’s nerveless and oversensitive, and the first roller coaster that hits her after her screams die down sets off a weary full-body shudder and a wail of utter shock. Then resignation. Allura sags, chest wet from drool, shaking like a leaf in the wind every time the vibrations crest. She’s actually managed to rip a seam in her pants from straining so hard, and the threads are popping slowly up her inner thigh.

“First one to fail, Smith,” Pidge says, and pulls her boot out of Lance’s pants.

The boys are all a little slack-jawed, even Shiro, various mixtures of awe and concern and fear. Lance looks particularly stricken, not taking his eyes off Allura even as Pidge pulls his pants back up over his caged dick, zips him up, and plants a second electronic lock to clamp his belt closed.

Pidge tugs on his belt to get his attention as she rises. “No whoring out your ass either, McClain. Kneel.”

Lance fumbles for a few seconds, licks his lips, focuses.

“Uh, should I,” Hunk starts.

“I don’t know. McClain, can you show a damn bit of self-control, or is Garrett going to have to keep doing your work for you?”

“I,” Lance starts. “Yeah, no, I, I got this. I mean I guess it depends on what you’re gonna do to me, but, yeah, Hunk, lemme go.” He manages a grin. “As much as I like it when you hold me down.”

“I kinda like holding you down too,” Hunk says, without even much hesitation, and Pidge bites back a grin.

Lance sinks to his knees. Kneeling up, at least at first, and Pidge stops him right there. “Hold position. Hands at your sides.”

“Sir.” Lance obeys, breathing fast. Allura is starting to moan full-throated on every breath, any semblance of control slipping. Shiro gives another one of those quick side glances to Lance, both on their knees.

Pidge fishes the tape out of her toolbag and paces back over, standing over Lance and pulling his head back by his hair.

He runs his tongue over his lips, lets them fall open enticingly. Still trying. Because _Lance_.

“Still not gonna be that easy,” Pidge says, and rips off a short strip of tape. “You might want to press your lips together or you’ll regret it later. Assuming you ever do well enough for me to take this off.”

Lance quivers, makes one frustrated noise, and closes his mouth.

Pidge tapes him up, almost gently, making sure to get thorough coverage so he can’t just tongue it off. She’s just being mean, now, really. She has a second ball gag in the bag, it would even match Allura’s, which would be very cute, but she decided giving _no_ satisfaction to Lance’s oral fixation was the way to go. And, of course, making sure Lance couldn’t use his mouth was very important, and also shutting him up was going to help Hunk stay on track.

Hunk’s hand strays to the back of Lance’s head, and Pidge doesn’t shut them down yet, because that sort of thing makes Lance hazy-eyed and that’s fine, he’ll be less of a handful that way.

“Let’s hope you’ll be able to focus on your task now,” she says brusquely, stepping back and tossing the tape back into the bag. “No self-serving distractions. Your challenge, now that’s over with. Rise, attention. Garrett, fall in.”

They scramble to obey. It’s really quite gratifying. She’s put the fear of Colonel Gunderson into them by now, she thinks. Or Pidge in a hat. Does it matter, as long as it works? That’s a very existential thought for the moment; she puts it aside and focuses on Lance, standing dutifuly even with his mouth taped up, blue eyes huge and pleading.

“You will bring everyone in this room to orgasm before this session is over,” Pidge says sharply. “You may use my tools along with your hands. Don’t sprain yourself. But you may not remove that tape. And no,” she adds, glaring between him and Shiro, “that does not override the rule about touching Shirogane.”

Shiro’s eyes widen.

If it was just for his own sake, he might well stoic through the entire evening without begging, without admitting what he wants and how. She’s playing the same game with Shiro and Hunk, really, but from slightly different angles. Tailored angles. Now Lance will fail, no two ways about it, if Shiro holds out. It’s a mean way to motivate Shiro, but sometimes you just damn well need a way.

Shiro and Lance trade a furtive sideways glance. Shiro mouthes something. Lance shakes his head slightly, brow furrowing in concern.

“You may start immediately,” Pidge says, causing them both to snap attention back to her. “With Garrett. Oh, and don’t stand up.”

Lance, with one boot on the ground, freezes, and slowly slides his leg back under him. Then drops to his hands and knees and crawls to kneel at Hunk’s feet.

Hunk looks around with wide eyes for a moment, hand jittering on his trouser seam.

“At ease, Garrett,” Pidge says. “Remember your reports.”

“Sir,” Hunk says, slightly creaky, and brings a big hand around to cup Lance’s face, ruffling his hair softly.

Four down.

Keith is starting to jitter after so long at attention, and he’s mostly, Pidge suspects, been focusing on Shiro. Shiro is still exactly where he was, but more and more looking to Hunk and Lance. He’s breathing a little fast, and there’s a strain in his thighs.

One can’t leave him _too_ long, Pidge thinks. “Before I get started with _you_.” She jerks her chin at Keith. “Shirogane. Go rip Smith’s pants open. The rest of you will need access.” Allura gives a muffled whine. “Fuck her with your fingers if you like. In fact, as our first failure, Smith is available for any of you to use as you will. Remove her gag if you wish to use her mouth, but replace it when you’re done. Shirogane, you will need to petition me for permission to use anything but your hands and mouth. She is otherwise at our disposal.”

Lance makes a disgruntled series of noises that, in context, is probably _why does Shiro get to go down on people and I don’t_. Hunk ruffles him fondly. “Probably ‘cause of your crazy oral fixation, dude, and she’s being really mean to you. ’S okay, you’re good with your hands.”

“Sir,” Shiro says, and pulls himself into focus, and makes to stand.

“No standing for you either, cadet,” Pidge corrects him sharply. “Not yet.”

Shiro jolts once. A slow breath. Accepts it.

Lance keeps mumbling to himself as he gets Hunk’s pants open, and even with his mouth taped, he takes a moment to rub his cheek along the thickening length of Hunk’s cock, breathing it in.

“Holy cannoli, Shiro, your _ass_ ,” Hunk babbles as Shiro crawls by on his way to Allura, close-shorn back of his head hanging low between his broad shoulders. “Oh man, Lance, your hands are really soft.”

Only Lance could manage to make his thoroughly smug _I moisturize_ crystal clear through three layers of duct tape.

“Kogane,” Pidge snaps. “Forward.”

There’s not really a line left, just Keith standing at lazy attention next to Hunk getting a handjob that really wants to be a blowjob. Keith walks forward a few paces regardless, more like he just wanted to _move_ than because he actually listened. “Yeah, you’re going to hit me a lot, I know. I don’t know why you bothered with all the buildup.”

Pidge gives her best manly snort. “It wasn’t for your benefit, Kogane. It was for theirs. ‘Cause I’m gonna be busy with you for a while.” Keith gets the full circle—shit, she’d forgotten that with Hunk or Lance. Oh well. Lance is well and truly locked into the scene now, and Hunk was going to be a long slow fall anyway, she knows how much he guards his reactions and salts his way through things.

Keith jitters quietly as she circles him, shifting from foot to foot. “Just get it over with.”

Pidge snaps the cane on his outer thigh, a few inches below his hand, and Keith gives a thin grunt, jolts. From behind him, Pidge has a glorious view of Shiro, right-handed, pulling Allura’s seam-bursted and soaked fatigues aside like they’re tissue paper. He’s not even particularly aggressive about it; it’s casual, professional. Allura’s looking down at him and making little humiliated whimpering noises as she trembles against the vibrator.

He’s also been wearing her scent on his face since before she stripped him down. And Pidge knows just how mouth-watering that smell is.

Pidge refocuses on Keith, her excitement building as he breathes out slow through his teeth, squares his shoulders. There’s all the power plays and sex stuff, and that’s very nice and she’s on an excellent evil roll so far, but there’s also hurting Keith a lot, and hurting Keith a lot is simple and clean and brilliant fun.

The way Hunk is pulling Lance’s hands up to his face to wet them thoroughly with his tongue, and the way he squeezes his eyes closed, face burning, as he talks about how much he likes them in his mouth, is almost distracting as she comes around. But then she catches Keith’s eyes. Oh, he’s not tuning her out anymore. His gaze is like fire.

“Here’s how this is gonna work, Kogane. I’m not giving you your challenge yet. You’ve got quite a record to work through. And I’ve got quite a pile of tools.” She narrows her eyes. “One tool for each disciplinary infraction on your record. With each tool, that number of strokes. You start trouble, I’ll strap you down.”

Keith snorts. “Whatever. I’ve taken worse.”

Their eyes lock for a long moment, neither backing down, until Pidge says, “Hands on the bench. Pants down.”

Keith takes a steadying breath, then takes his sweet ass time getting over there. He picks a spot neither particularly close nor particularly far from Allura, which Pidge appreciates—she’ll have a nice view of her pet princess.

“This,” she says to Allura as she appreciates that view, “is when you would have come if you could behave yourself.”

Allura whimpers, unable to meet her eyes.

“Sir,” Shiro asks quietly, as Keith unbuckles his belt, and for a moment Keith’s hands still as his eyes fall on Shiro crouched naked between Allura’s splayed legs. “The vibrator?”

“At your discretion, cadet,” Pidge says dismissively. And takes a moment to step within reach and flick her cane, feather-light, on one of Allura nipples, then the other. Allura squeaks, high and sharp, straining like she’s trying to protect herself, but of course she can’t. Nipple clamps, Pidge thinks absentmindedly. She’s going to want those at some point. Maybe tie them to her toes so she pulls them when they curl.

She isn’t particularly surprised to see Shiro slide the vibrator carefully aside. Allura makes a long choked moan, sags with relief. Then Shiro replaces it with his tongue, and Allura _wails_.

“I’m waiting,” Keith mutters.

He’s waiting. In fact. Pants down, ass out. Under the baggy fatigue jacket, his narrow waist and thighs look even smaller. Still solid muscle though. Which of course means less insulation from impact than, say, Hunk. Thuddy things hit him particularly deep, and he doesn’t like them very much unless he’s really far gone.

So of course Pidge has brought several.

“You’re that eager to get your ass handed to you, cadet?” she drawls.

“I’m that eager to get this bullshit over with.”

Pidge gives another flick of her cane to his thigh. Bare skin this time. Keith curses. “Don’t forget who you’re dealing with,” Pidge growls. “Do I need to gag you, cadet?”

“No, sir,” Keith bites out.

It’s pretty much offering him covert way to fine-tune the scene. Keith has a low tolerance for being silenced; it’s edgeplay, and she’s seen him tap out at a gag before. If he’s disrespectful enough that Colonel Gunderson has to shut him up the hard way, he’ll probably SOS for that, and not for pain or embarrassment. On the other hand, if he wants to push this even further into edgeplay, he can provoke that and ride that edge. She isn’t quite sure whether Keith has thought through the implications, but he’s reasonably strategic by now, he can probably figure it out. Especially since he isn’t high on endorphins yet.

“Holy cannoli, Keith, _your_ ass,” Hunk offers, voice a little shaky as Lance works him.

But covert ways to fine-tune are one thing; overt is another. Pidge drags her nails casually over the firm flesh of his ass, feels his muscles tense. “Enjoy the view before I wreck it, Garrett. Kogane, remind me how many disciplinary marks are on your record again?”

Keith looks over his shoulder at her, brow furrowing. “How many?”

“Just give her the square root of how many times you wanna get hit,” Hunk prompts in a stage whisper.

Keith looks like he’s being asked to call back _Tron!_ , and flounders for a moment, and says, “Like I keep track. Twenty or something?”

 _Keith you goddamn masochistic overachiever_ , Pidge thinks, almost impressed. Does she even _have_ twenty things to hit him with? Well, there’s always his belt. A dildo, like one of the fat wobbly ones, now that would be nice and thuddy. Shiro’s hand. Allura’s braid—no, she’d have to uncuff her, she’s not giving Allura that kind of play right now. Allura is, in fact, busy writhing against Shiro’s face.

“Twenty-one marks on your record, cadet,” she says, after some quick mental math. She likes odd numbers—out of pure sadism, really, it drives Hunk _nuts_ when he’s not symmetrical. Twenty-one is three sets of seven, easy to count, also odd. She can pull together twenty-one implements of destruction. At least two of which are things _nobody_ else in this room would stand being hit with even once. “Four hundred and forty-one strokes. Let’s see if you can earn your challenge.” She tucks her cane back into her boot—that’ll be the finisher, she thinks. “Give me your belt, cadet.”

She wonders if she can actually make Keith cry this time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes: a) Well, season 7 came out, and apparently Pidge and Hunk did not make that arm after all, but I’ll take full advantage of it’s, ah, mobility. Handwave. Literally. Also about Allura’s crown. b) Yeah, I laughed when I saw Allura in a Garrison cadet’s uniform in canon, though of course she’s a very good cadet by the light of day. c) I did not think this fic was going to have suspension bondage but then Hunk happened. d) Blink and you’ll miss it Galra!Keith. e) Thanks to mllelaurel for catching math mistakes! f) Those of you who are here to see Keith’s Ass Get Beat, I certainly hope you’re satisfied! <3

Keith takes his first twenty-one, sharp cracks of his own belt, through gritted teeth. Nostrils flaring. Not a sound.

It’s a hard start, but he’d probably bitch if he got a slow warmup right now.

He’s hanging his head low, not looking at the room. Pidge has been curious about that. She’s pretty sure Keith hasn’t done heavy painplay in front of this many people before, not the kind that really breaks him down. She’s wondering what kind of effect it’ll have. If any. Keith’s not as attention-conscious as most.

Not like Allura, who’s still trying to hide her face, melting in her cuffs with quivering moans as Shiro softens her up. Not like Hunk, who’s straight-up got a hand over his mouth as Lance settles in, clearly intent on making this a slow and sensual jerkoff.

“Hand down, Garrett,” Pidge barks between cracks of Keith’s belt.

Hunk yelps and pulls his hand down.

Last and heaviest of each set of seven lands low on Keith’s right ass cheek. She’s _trying_ not to grin, but she can tell from Hunk’s face when he looks her way that she’s got the gremlin glint in her eye. Because low on Keith’s right ass cheek is going to be _hell_ by the time she’s done.

 

* * *

 

Second set. Strip of thick, rigid plasticy stuff, kind of like a ruler but with a bit more thud. Scrap from construction projects with Hunk, like so much of her toybox. It’s easier on him than the belt, and if she’d started with it, it might have counted for a warmup. Now it’s just getting more blood up to his skin, making him more sensitive.

“Ohhhh shit,” Hunk moans. “Oh wow. Yeah that’s…”

Lance makes a questioning noise.

“Y-yeah. When you play with my balls like that, it’s…god, fuck, how am I supposed to know why? It just is. It’s nice. It’s…oh, okay, that’s a little more…”

“What’s he doing, Garrett?”

Hunk’s gulp is audible, even over Allura’s rising moans. “He’s like…pulling my balls down? Just a little! Just like…nngghhh…like…” He makes a vague hand gesture.

Lance sounds downright _smug_.

Shiro’s taking his time, and Pidge wonders if she’ll need to hurry him up. But then she sees his hand creeping up to join his mouth, angled in a way that can only mean one thing, and Allura moans drop an octave. They do that when she gets fucked.

Keith still isn’t making noise. She doesn’t particularly expect him to. Not until the last stroke lands, extra heavy, low on his right ass cheek, and he _hisses_. “Cheating.”

 

* * *

 

Third set. Small, dense, _heavy_ rubber paddle, just for that last comment. The sort of thing Keith hates even when he also loves it. The sort of thing that makes him grunt even when he’s trying to play stoic, strained on every hit. “You say I’m _cheating_ , cadet? You want to explain that?”

“Hitting one spot harder just to try to make me—nggah—react.” Keith’s voice is strained; he shuffles his feet a little in his puddled trousers, planting his boots, which mostly means spreading his legs a little. It’s a lovely view. Hunk dutifully points that out in between babbling about how nice Lance’s knuckles are on his t’aint. “Playing favorites with Garrett and Shirogane.”

“Favorites?” Pidge says, dangerously low, finishing a set of seven, hard, low on his right ass cheek.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groans, a little tremor running down that leg.

“Hhuissnaggh!” Allura shrieks as Shiro twists his wrist a little.

“Do you _really—_ ” smack “—want to stand up in front of everyone—” smack “—and tell them every reason—” smack “—why you’ve got a raging boner from me beating—” smack “—your—” smack, smack, smack and _growl_. “Ass?” She lets him breath a moment before starting the next set of seven. “Or have to beg me for every stroke? You’re saying that’d be easy for you, Kogane?”

Keith falls silent. Keith doesn’t exactly stay silent through seven more heavy hits, but Keith doesn’t have any more to say about _that._

On the sixth stroke, Hunk’s eyes roll back in his head, and Keith’s bark of pain on the seventh mixes with the tail end of his guttural groan as he spills in Lance’s hands.

 

* * *

 

Fourth set. Pidge considers her toybox, considers the situation, and as she goes through her bag, calls, “McClain.”

“Mm-mir?” Lance answers, scrabbling around on his knees to look at her.

Hunk, bless him, has come all over Lance’s face. Or maybe that was Lance’s doing. Either way, there’s smears of white down his temple, spattered over the tape covering his mouth. His eyes are wide, his face warm, as he takes in Keith’s reddening ass, then Shiro starting to fingerbang Allura in earnest.

Pidge points at the floor next to Keith. “Here. Stand by and await orders. Well, kneel by. Garrett, feel free to amuse yourself with Smith once you’ve recovered.”

Lance mumbles an acknowledgement and crawls back over, breathing a little fast and shallow. Hunk just nods, reeling in place a little as he zips himself up, and Pidge doesn’t push him for a _yes, sir_ , she knows how muzzy he gets after he comes. She’ll give him a set before cracking down.

She pulls out her next implement. A generously proportioned and rather squishy pink dildo.

Lance makes a squeaky sort of noise. Keith looks over his shoulder, brow knotting. “I hope you’re not expecting to shove that up there right now, sir,” he mutters, _almost_ unfazed, because he’s like that.

“Nope,” says Pidge cheerfully, and smacks his ass with it.

“Shit!” Keith yelps, caught off guard. It’s heavy, the flexibility giving it quite a deep thud. More of what he hates. His fingers dig into the padded seat of the bench as he starts to breathe heavily through his nose, and that might be some heat on his face. Sweet, sweet reactions. “You have—hnn—got to be fucking kidding me—”

“Kidding me what?” Pidge needles.

“Kidding me _sir_.” The sir’s punched out of him along with a groan as she beats him. Lance wipes his hands on his pants and crawls up dutifully, watching her hit Keith with a dildo with huge, almost confused eyes.

“That’s right. Sir. I can hit you with whatever I damn well like, cadet. You’ve got twenty-one marks on your record, you don’t get to be picky.”

Keith’s _growl_ of offendedpain as she finishes a set is punctuated nicely by a nearly inhuman wail and shudder from Allura as she comes helplessly around Shiro’s fingers. He must be doing some truly spectacular things to her Altean-something-like-a-g-spot to get noises like that. Hunk’s plopped down on the bench next to her and is watching in what looks like awe, then reaches over to gently pick the sweaty strands of hair out of her eyes as she catches her breath. Or tries to.

“Let me guess,” Keith mutters, mostly teeth. “This is where I should be grateful that you’re bothering at all.”

There’s an edge to it. Shiro, with Allura writhing like a goddess of unmanageable orgasms above him, pulls his eyes off her long enough to look over his shoulder at Keith, like he’s checking in, and Pidge has the sudden, sharp fear that she’s found a sore point. Or that Keith’s deliberately bared one for her. Or accidentally. Whichever.

She stretches her window for answering with a few more wobbity pink smacks. Colonel Gunderson pushes people. Hard. But he isn’t in it for gloating. He isn’t in it for pointless emotional sadism. There’s a _goal_. It’s instructional. Transformative. Pretty straightforward goal with most of the others—well, with Lance it _is_ mostly just sadism, but it’s _Lance_ , he’s actually got the least hang-ups at this point. Generally because Allura’s gotten rid of them, but whatever. Her goal with Keith, the Colonel Gunderson lesson, is…a tough one. She’s honestly not sure she’ll get there. She hadn’t expected to start digging around sore spots this early, not really.

But she’s being Colonel Gunderson, and the salty old fucker is brutally honorable in his way. “What use would I have for your gratitude, brat? Or your groveling? I want results.”

All the breath leaves Keith’s body in a desperate shudder that sounds something like relief.

“We’ll see soon enough whether I’ll get them. This—” and she gives a hearty smack to the tender top of his thigh, and he groans and accepts it like it’s a pat on the shoulder “—is just necessary groundwork, and you’re going to take it without any more lip.”

“Yes, sir,” Keith breathes between strokes.

A smile tugs at the corner of Shiro’s mouth.

 

* * *

 

Before she starts the fifth set, she hands the dildo to Lance and says, “Go fuck Smith.”

Lance makes a strangled noise, and takes it, flushed. _Allura_ makes a strangled noise too, keening.

“Shirogane,” Pidge barks.

“Sir,” Shiro acknowledges, pausing. Allura pants, desperately savoring what little respite she’s getting. Hunk’s letting his hand wander, a little cautious, murmuring things Pidge can’t quite make out, and her head’s hanging low, watching quiet and helpless as his big callused fingers trace over her bared breasts, slick from her own drool.

“Get over here.”

“Sir.”

They each remember to crawl. Lance is on elbows and knees, limber, ass high in the air so he can keep the dildo off the floor. Shiro’s contained, red rimming his ears as she looks down at him.

“Twenty one to Kogane’s ass and the tops of his thighs. Use your right.”

Shiro blinks once, takes a steadying breath.

Keith makes a faint, needy whine through his clenched teeth.

It’s a lovely arrangement. Pidge catches her breath, focusing, laying out a few implements on the bench. A second pair of cuffs. One impact toy after another. Punctuated by Keith’s low, almost grateful groans under the familiar, crushing weight of Shiro’s right hand, and by Allura’s ragged moans as Lance works the thick dildo into her and Hunk lazily plays with her nipples. This is working. This is actually working.

One implement she lays, with care, on the bench right between Keith’s hands. Definitely one of the things nobody else here can take. It’s a bundle of scrap inner tube. The core of it is a solid rubber beater, heavy and hard, but the core isn’t the scary part. That’s the tails, furled strips of rubber fanning up from the layered core, made to wrap around with terrific stinging force and raise welts on hips and thighs.

Keith can’t take his eyes off it even as Shiro spanks him—methodical, his left on Keith’s tailbone to steady him, _hard_. Shiro knows Keith, after all. Knows how to push him. There’s a reason she trusted this _exact_ set to him, ratcheting things up for the next one. Keith’s breathing fast, shaking a little, walls coming down as the endorphins start to hit him, as Shiro plays him like an intimately familiar fiddle.

“Shirogane,” Pidge says. “Hold him down when you’re done.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Keith breathes.

 

* * *

 

Sixth set.

Shiro pins Keith’s forearms to the bench with a grip like iron.

Pidge starts full swing with the chaotic and deadly rubber thing and doesn’t slow down. There’s not really a point in hitting the spot on his right ass cheek with this one. This one’s just hell everywhere. He’s not _quite_ warmed up enough for this; it’s a brutal difficulty spike, and he’s angry-purple hard and trembling.

Keith screams on the second stroke.

Shiro’s rubbing a circle on his inner arm with his thumb, soothing. Nothing more—he’d be out of line, and Keith wouldn’t want it anyway when he’s like this.

Allura joins him in harmony, and Pidge looks up for just a moment to see Lance fucking her in earnest, both hands on the wiggling dildo to keep it in place, as Hunk leans over to get her nipples into his mouth.

The rubber thing’s painting Keith’s thighs and ass with spatter-red welts, pinkie-sized splashes. They’ll swell soon, Pidge knows. The pain from this one will _stay_. Keith jams his face into the bench and howls and tries to kick except he’s stuck in his pants, and every muscle in his body strains in picture-perfect definition as he struggles against Shiro, and he’s rock fucking hard.

He slumps when the twenty-one are over, panting like he’s run a mile.

Pidge pulls out another pair of magcuffs. “Get those on him, Shirogane.”

 

* * *

 

Seventh set. Keith’s strung up to the ceiling by the simple expedient of stretching the glowing tethers of the magcuffs to their limit, arms in a Y, tight enough that he almost can’t set his heels down. He’s still wrung out from the rubber thing, and the welts are starting to come in for real. There’s a bead of moisture on the tip of his cock, smeared against his oversized jacket.

Pidge is holding a small, simple strip of plastic. “Now that you’re starting to behave, cadet, let’s make this interesting.”

Keith clenches his jaw through his endorphin haze as she takes his dick in her other hand, bracing it almost gently against her half-gloved palm.

Even Shiro goes a little wide-eyed at that, and carefully smoothes a hand down the mostly unmarked front of Keith’s thigh.

“Remember your standing orders, Shirogane,” Pidge says. “Keep an eye on Garrett.”

“Sir,” Shiro says, voice a little thick.

He doesn’t crawl back over there until the first stroke lands on Keith’s cock. The shaft, not the head yet, and he makes an unholy noise through his closed mouth, face crumpling a little. Two. Three.

Shiro either surrenders or decides he trusts her, and crawls dutifully back to Hunk. She damn well hopes it’s the latter. Keith’s face is red, and he actually can’t look at her for once, and every time she hits him, his cock twitches in her hand.

A few to the head. A few to his balls, light and careful and making his legs shake like jelly.

On the seventeeth stroke, Allura comes with a raging howl, so hard she gushes pinkish-clear all over Lance’s face and chest.

“Get some lube, Garrett,” Pidge calls over Keith’s thin, somewhat awed scream as she smacks his balls. “Start opening up her ass.”

 

* * *

 

Eighth set. Pidge picks up the flyswatter in one hand and starts lazily undoing the buttons of Keith’s jacket with the other.

Keith’s eyes are tracking the thing warily, because he knows that flyswatter, he’s known that flyswatter ever since she picked it up at a space mall to deal with an actual fly infestation. Because there are zappy flyswatters in space too, and then Pidge discovered that the little static charge is perfectly harmless to human, and then she _might_ have chased everyone around the ship for a week…at any rate, Keith knows that flyswatter.

Hunk and Lance seem to be getting into some territorial negotiations, and then Hunk has to figure out that he can move Allura’s cuffs a little so her ass is over the edge of the bench—leaving her even more exposed.

Pidge shoves Keith’s jacket open and barks, “McClain.”

Lance makes some dim noise behind his tape, not quite able to pry his eyes off Allura.

“Kogane’s next. Get over here.”

“Fuck,” Keith says, almost pleading, dick raw and tender. “Why—that’s not—”

“McClain’s got his own challenge to meet. No reason for him to get held up, is there?” Pidge pats Keith’s cheek indulgently, which might be a little out of character, but his skin’s so warm and his glare’s so disgruntled that it’s worth it.

His composure cracks an inch as she thumbs on the charge and gives the meat of one pec a hearty, zappy smack. Two. Three.

His composure cracks more as Lance crawls back, face spattered with two layers of come now, and settles between his legs, looking up at him with huge eyes, almost in awe. Has Lance ever seen him doing painplay this heavy? Pidge isn’t quite sure. She finishes the set of seven with a harsh and burning smack right to Keith’s nipple.

Keith roars between clenched teeth and tries to pull his arms closed over his chest, which just makes all the muscles in his chest tighter under her ministrations. And leaves his boots floating an inch or two off the deck, effortless. Lance squawks and actually grabs his ass like he’s afraid he’s going to float away, which with all the welts, makes Keith yowl.

Lance mumbles something that might be _shit, sorry_ , and Pidge just snorts. “Ass still tender, Kogane? That was just a warm-up. You’re getting a nice break now.” Punctuated by another stroke to his nipple.

Keith actually _whimpers_ as Lance carefully palms his dick, and breathes a “Fuck you, sir,” more like a prayer than a curse.

Given that _fuck you sir is not a safeword_ is practically Keith’s motto, Pidge is pretty satisfied by that.

 

* * *

 

Ninth set. A strip of flexible, nigh-unbreakable carbon fiber about six inches long and an eighth of an inch around.

Keith starts breathing hard the moment he sees it, whole body twitching in his cuffs as he tries to brace himself.

“Get him off by the time I count twenty-one, McClain,” Pidge says.

“ _Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck_ ,” Keith growls, strained, and bites up a mouthful of his jacket collar, turning his face into his shoulder.

Pidge is vaguely aware of Lance looking up at Keith in something like awe and terror as he starts jerking him off in earnest. Of Hunk knuckle-deep in Allura’s ass, teasing her with a second of his estimable fingers, as he babbles about how tight and hot and gorgeous and strong she is. Of Shiro, sliding his arms around Hunk from behind, holding him snug and doing something to his nipples, apparently, even as he can’t quite not look over his shoulder at Keith screaming his way to orgasm.

It’s distant, though, all that. Mostly she’s caught up in Keith, Keith’s reactions, pushed to the brink. It’s a two-handed job, this fiendish little stick. Pull it back, let it snap against him. The carbon fiber is unyielding, striking with terrific and concentrated. It _burns_ , she knows, sharp and merciless. Raises vivid red welts. One of the most painful toys she has. She’s painting stripes closer and closer to his nipples as he jerks his hips frantically into Lance’s hands, a raw nerve of pleasure and pain. Closer. Closer.

Keith starts coming on Lance’s face.

Pidge drops the last two strokes right on Keith’s nipples for punctuation, and Keith howls like the damned, whole body spasming against the cuffs, red-faced with cords standing out in his throat.

“Nine marks cleared, cadet,” Pidge says, low and satisfied.

“Fuuuck,” Keith breathes, sagging in his bonds with a shudder. Aftershocks. She scrapes her gloved palm over his burning nipple, and he shudders again, whining. “Fuuuuuck.”

Pidge is pretty sure she’s wearing one of her scary grins, and she doesn’t even care. “Ready for the rest?”

 

* * *

 

Tenth set. Hunk had made this one, a cat’o’ninetails sort of thing, twelve crown-braided strips of light space pleather. Just a fidget project, he’d said. Thought she might like it. Typical Hunk. It hits hard and rough, texture scraping over the skin, raising red marks if she puts much force into it. Not any more of a warmup than most other things.

She’s had time to take stock, pull back from the hyperfocus on making Keith come just so. Keith is slumped in his cuffs, rubber-kneed from orgasm and the nice load of endorphins already circulating his system, and she’s shoved his uniform jacket up over his head. It’s thoroughly undignified, leaves the whole wiry streak of him bare from shoulders to ankles, _and_ shields his ears from any stray flogger tails.

Lance is lurking on his knees, having been informed that getting the Colonel off was going to be the culmination of his agenda, and Shiro is already shooting him guilty looks as the full consequences of that sink in. Shiro’s starting to tease Hunk’s ass—not taking his pants off yet, but there’s some pretty thorough groping.

“God, I don’t even _know_ why it’s so good,” Hunk says, on the subject of asses and putting things in them. “It just is. Like it doesn’t _hurt_ really? But it’s intense. There’s sort of the oof thing and it sort of like stuns you, but not in a bad way? And you make noises without even meaning to, sort like…like they’re just kind of wrung out of you. Me. Uh. I’m not even sure who I’m talking about here, I mean I can’t talk for you exactly, that would be pretty rude, though you are also kind of making the noises—”

“Ugghnn,” Allura groans, punched out of her in time with Hunk’s fingers.

“Yeah those noises!” Hunk says brightly. “Man, I’m not even sure what I’m—nnngh, oh god, Shiro, that’s, that’s good, you’re a horrible tease, but the pressure there is, oh heck, yeah—”

Yeah, Hunk’s doing okay. And enthusiastic enough that Pidge can hear him even over Keith’s groans as she starts coloring in his back in broad, heavy strokes, braided tails lashing as he sags and sways, no fight left in him. It’ll probably come back, she knows. He goes through cycles in heavy pain scenes, limp-ragging through some of it and thrashing when he’s pushed up to a new threshold of agony. This is limp rag time. It’s not a bad sign at all; it means he’s in heaven.

“Shirogane,” she calls.

“Sir?”

“There’s a plug in the bag. If you think Garrett’s earned it.” Several, in fact. Shiro can decide which, he’s a big boy.

 

* * *

 

Eleventh set. It’s not the flogger’s design that’s fancy this time, but the material. Pleathery stuff with a circuit grid running through it, used in some worlds for interactive clothing a little more computational and a little less shapechangey than Altean issue. Electrically conductive. And of _course_ there’s a little dynamo in the handle.

Keith judders and howls, exultant, as the current dances over the newly-sensitized skin of his back. Allura judders and howls as Lance pets her hair and plays with her breasts, as Hunk slips some spare fingers into her soaked pussy to replace the big pink dildo she’d lost somewhere along the way. Hunk isn’t quite to the juddering and howling state yet, but he’s moaning low and lush as Shiro starts opening him up, pants down and plush thighs spread as far as he can, babbling non-stop about how good Shiro’s fingers feel.

Lance isn’t quite looking at Shiro, and Shiro isn’t quite looking at Lance, and Pidge decides to turn the screws once Shiro’s done with Hunk. And once she’s done with the delicious crackling and moaning in front of her. There’s just something about the way electricity gets under the skin, makes Keith dance in his cuffs, all rippling muscle and raw sensation. She really needs to do an all-electrical scene with him someday, she thinks absentmindedly. For the seventh of each set, she leaves the current on, leaning forward so she can drag the tails slowly over his skin. She holds it on the last until he runs out of breath from his long, long cry.

 

* * *

 

Twelfth set. One more flogger. This one’s just a bundle of space paracord, ends knotted. Which is to say anyone stronger than Pidge could probably rend skin with it. They’re called blood knots for a reason. Keith is starting to rock back and forth a little in the cuffs, making low wordless noises, even before she takes this mean-ass thing to his back. He’s high as hell.

“Wrap it up, Shirogane,” Pidge calls. “I’ll need to borrow Garrett soon.”

Shiro’s decidedly hedgy and hoarse answer of “Sir” is pretty drowned out by Keith’s wail as she takes her first stroke. Wailing goes to howling pretty quickly. Then roaring. Shiro’s picked out a plug, she notices out of the corner of her eye—fat, squishy, with a narrow stem. Hunk’s favorite; he likes the girth, he likes the give, and it’s hard to lose. Very thoughtful of him. Hunk dutifully reiterates how much he likes the girth and the give, and why, as Keith and Allura scream in harmony. The screaming, Pidge realizes, is in part because Lance has slipped a hand down to play with Allura’s clit. It’s all soft sweet wrist motion, well-practiced and probably _exactly_ how she likes it. She’s got him well trained, after all.

Pidge’ll be done with Keith’s back after this, so she makes that last set of seven _count_. Even growls, “Hold on tight, Kogane,” under her breath and counts them out for him. They come brutally fast, hard enough that red specks stand out just under his skin, and he screams raw through it without even seeming to draw breath.

 

* * *

 

Pidge lets Keith breathe. Pidge unlocks his cuffs and lets him slump to the floor. He falls on his side, panting. Then slowly, eventually, shoves an elbow against the floor, squirms up just enough to shed his uniform jacket so it doesn’t rub against his raw back. His pants are still a puddle around his ankles. Welts showing on his chest, ass a fading red spattered with swollen marks from the rubber toy.

She’ll fix that soon.

“Garrett,” she says, jerking her chin at him. “Wipe your hands and come here.”

Hunk gulps. Clambers to his feet with a deep groan, tottering a little given that plug, and pulls his pants up. He kisses Allura on her cheek above the strap of her gag and she squeaks. In spite of Lance’s muffled annoyance, he kisses him too, on the top of his head. And barely stops himself from kissing Shiro.

As Hunk busies himself with the handy space sterilizing wipes in Pidge’s toolbag, she turns her glare on Shiro, hovering awkwardly near Lance. “Shirogane.”

“Sir.”

“Center of the room. Back in line. Kneel and await orders.” She pauses, taking _all_ her attention off Keith for a moment and bringing it to bear on Shiro. “You know how to move things along.”

Shiro swallows visibly and actually drops her gaze for a moment, breath coming a little fast as he fights with himself.

Hunk tosses Shiro a wipe, and he catches it on reflex, pauses.

Pidge keeps staring at him. Doesn’t even speak. Just nods.

Shiro wipes his hands. He goes. He kneels. God, that kind of power could go to a girl’s head. Lance gives Shiro a look over his shoulder, something between worried and petulant.

“Garrett,” Pidge says, refocusing. Shiro can stew for a moment. “Spank Kogane. Twenty-one strokes.”

Keith makes some muzzy noise and a vague attempt to haul himself up to the bench.

“Uh sir yes sir,” Hunk blurts, and crouches to steady Keith. “I got you, I got you, hey…”

Keith slumps against him with a moan, straight-up burying his face in Hunk’s accommodating shoulder, and pulls up two handfuls of Hunk’s jacket. Hunk snugs an arm around his waist, wrangling his limp form pretty much effortlessly so he can reach his ass with his free hand.

“You’re doing so good, I mean, holy _crap_ , I don’t think I’ve ever heard you scream like that, you’re so fucking tough, you’re gonna make it…”

“Touching, Garrett,” Pidge drawls, though she can’t _quite_ keep the fondness out of her voice. “Now snap to it. Don’t hold back.”

Thirteenth set. Hunk, Pidge knows, has _very_ nice hands for spanking, and a habit of counting nervously under his breath. Broad, heavy. Keith moans, melting against him. Not that it’s all happy nice pain, not with those welts from the rubber toy stinging under the weight of Hunk’s blows. Even with that, though, Keith’s boneless, putty in Hunk’s hands.

“Nice break, Kogane, don’t you think?” Pidge says, leaning against the bench and taking a moment to rest herself. Well. More like gloat.

“Nnaammnuh,” Keith says into Hunk’s jacket.

“I’d expect a man in your position to be a little more grateful for your breaks,” Pidge drawls, tapping her fingers against her thigh.

“Fuh yu sir,” Keith mumbles. It’s nicely punctuated by a very sweet moan from Allura and Hunk’s dutiful patter about how gorgeous and hot Keith looks like this and how nice the muscles in his ass are.

Pidge grins. “I didn’t quite hear that, Kogane.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Keith bites out on a particularly heavy stroke. “You.” He pants. “Sir.”

“Still giving me lip, eh?” She feels her grin spreading. “Well, you’ve got eight more sets after this. I guess we’ll see what you’ve learned soon enough, shall we.” She can’t resist reaching out and giving the scruff of his mullet a hard tug; he whines, shudders, lolls against Hunk. Then she lifts her chin. “McClain.”

“Mmrr?” Lance says, eyes darting nervously over the room.

“Get that big pink ordinance back inside Smith’s pussy and leave her be for now. I need your attention elsewhere.”

She realizes her mistake almost as soon as she says it. The corners of Lance’s eyes crinkle, Allura makes an muffled giggle, and Hunk’s is a lot less muffled. Even Shiro cracks, biting his lip with a glint in his eye. Keith is too far gone to notice. Well, at least _one_ person isn’t going to give her shit for that impulsive phrase for the next month. _Big pink ordinance._ Oh well. What Colonel Gunderson might occasionally lack in dignity, he makes up for in ruthlessness. As is evidenced by how Lance obeys without further hesitation and finds where the big pink dildo fell. No dust to wipe off in these robo-cleaned rooms, at least.

“Twenty,” Hunk mumbles, sotto voce. “Oh wow, you’re already pretty red again. It’s so _warm_ …” His fingertips trace the blood-warmed skin of Keith’s ass, soft and sweet, and Keith makes some faint unearthly noise, trembling. Hypersensitive. “Twenty-one.” One last resounding smack.

“You can stay there for now, Garrett,” Pidge says, almost sweetly, and drops in behind Keith.

 

* * *

 

Fourteenth set. Pidge’s own hands. Pretty much the opposite of Hunk’s. She knows she can’t do much by spanking. So instead she uses her fists. Short, controlled blows, deep into the meat of Keith’s ass. He shudders under each one, tremors running down his legs in tune with whatever muscle she hit. Hunk keeps holding him up and crooning praise—which, if Pidge knows Keith at all, is considerably more discombobulating than the punching.

When Lance has the—big pink ordinance, well, that’s its name now—properly stowed, Pidge looks over with a crooked grin. “Think you can hold onto that for us, Smith?”

Allura, stretched and dripping, whines, face burning. She hasn’t got a chance, of course. But Pidge can see the tendons at the tops of her thighs stand out as she strains to clamp her legs closed. She’s trying, poor thing. Desperately bearing down. Of course, that only jams it tighter against her pretty-much-a-G-spot. Pidge gives Keith a moment to breathe between each punch just so she can watch Allura struggle.

But Allura’s not the only one who needs to be struggling right now. It’s time to turn up the heat on Shiro. Past time, maybe. “And McClain,” she calls. “Kneel in front of Shirogane. Close enough to touch.”

She can hear Shiro’s breath leave him, ragged.

Lance crawls over almost hesitantly, face hot, and alights in his landing zone with nervous care.

Shiro swallows hard, once, twice. Reaches for Lance with his flesh hand, brushing fingers softly over his cheek.

Lance leans into his touch with quiet desperation and makes a pleading noise through his tape.

Allura loses. Again. Spectacularly, because she’s bearing down on the thing so hard that she’s managed to kick off another thunderbolt in the rolling storm of orgasms she’s been weathering. Her toes curl and her fists clench pale-knuckled and she just about _sobs_ as her spasming cunt shoves the dildo out. _Hard_. It lands a few feet away with a splorch.

Pidge lands the twenty-first punch low on Keith’s right ass cheek—because oh, yes, it’s time for that again—and applauds her loudly. Unsure and bug-eyed, Hunk and Lance follow suit as Allura whimpers with shame.

“Playtime’s over, Kogane,” Pidge says, once the applause dies down, and reaches for the first cane.

 

* * *

 

Fifteenth set. The first cane. The mere _sight_ of it has galvanized Keith, pulled him out of limp-rag and into a frayed-out, combative haze of anticipation. She’s had Hunk pour him out of his arms; he’s on his knees now, thighs spread how he can with his pants around his ankles, arms braced on the bench, breathing fast and shallow through his mouth.

Keith may have a _particular_ fondness for getting caned, even when it makes him scream. Especially when it makes him scream. There are reasons Pidge is saving the whippy space-bamboo one in her boot for the climax.

This one’s a nice warm up. The introductory cane. Some smooth shiny-black carbon-fiber from the workshop, too thick to be flexible, light enough to have more sting and character than a simple stick. Keith’s still on edge, well-tenderized and fully aware this thing’s more dangerous and delightful cousins are in the queue. He jolts with every blow, breathing fast through his teeth. Cracks on a yell the first time she hits the spot low on his right ass cheek.

“Garrett,” Pidge calls, once she’s finished that first set of seven. “Smith has let us all down again, so I’m going to delegate her punishment to you. Since I still have my hands full with _this._ ” She punctuates that with a blow, and Keith shudders for a least twenty seconds after it, head resting against the bench.

“Uh, yes? Sir?” Hunk, at odds, is kind of eyeing Shiro and Lance like he isn’t sure he should do something.

“There’s a box of clothespins and a ball of twine in the bag. Clamp her nipples, tie them to her toes. With my _personal_ respects.” Hunk gulps, nods. Allura whimpers where she’s sagged in her cuffs, trying to catch her breath. “After that.” She drops another blow on Keith and _fixes_ her gaze on Hunk for a moment, making her voice dangerous. “Don’t think you’re getting it easy. You are going to take whatever you need from my tools and do unto Smith as you would have done unto you. With commentary.”

Hunk makes a tiny, back of the throat _squeak_ which she’s going to cherish for _weeks._

“In principle, at least,” Pidge adds, falling back to gruff dismissiveness. “Obviously you have anatomical differences. Don’t set her free entirely, or let her speak. Beyond that, as you will.”

Hunk’s mouth works for—well, a while, her current unit of time is cane strokes on Keith’s ass and upper thighs, spaced enough to let him absorb the full aftershocks of each one, so Hunk stalls for two cane strokes. “That,” he croaks entirely, “won’t be a problem, sir, I, uh, like things in my mouth.”

“Get to work, then,” Pidge says briskly. “I’ll be watching your progress, of course.”

“Sir,” Hunk says, in a voice at least an octave above normal.

Pidge finishes her next set of seven. Keith screams, short and raw, right leg kicking against the deck like that could save him from the inevitable heavy blow low on his right ass cheek. She might, she thinks, need to restrain his legs soon. He won’t be able to keep fighting the flinch reflex for much longer. But she’ll let him hit that breaking point first.

Shiro and Lance, meanwhile, are pretty much torturing each other without her having to do a goddamn thing. Shiro’s all but silent, little twitches and short breaths as he wars with himself—making it so much worse with the anticipation, of course. He’s touching Lance so tenderly he might break him. Face, hair, shoulders. Lance, desperate for attention and soaked in three people’s come, including his dear princess’, is leaning into it _quivering_ , His hands hover an inch from Shiro’s skin. He’s whining through his gag.

“Please,” Shiro says, finally, voice so low she almost doesn’t make it out through Keith’s noises. “Lance…touch me.”

“Specificity, Shirogane,” Pidge says briskly, and drops the twenty-first blow low on Keith’s right ass check. _Just_ before Lance breaks and grabs Shiro’s dick like it’s the holy grail. At least he manages to stop himself.

 

* * *

 

Sixteenth set. Another cane: another long stick of black stuff from the workshop. This one, though—this one’s dangerous. Narrow, flexible, heavy. Keith breathes a string of curses and presses his forehead to the bench when he sees it. He’s made its acquaintance before, after all.

“Think you can take it, Cadet?” Pidge purrs, just to rattle his cage.

“I’ll take it, sir,” Keith bites out. “Fuck yo—uaaggghhh!”

He doesn’t try to speak after that first stroke. Breathing is taking most of his energy. This toy’s flexible enough to give the full cane experience: driving the blood away from the impact zone in a flash of white-hot, white-skinned pain. Then the aching rush as the impact reverberates and the blood rises. The first stripe comes in red, a little raised. Pidge lets him shudder through the full, deliciously terrible aftermath before she lays down another.

It also gives her time to hear Shiro manage, “Just…jerk me off, please.” A hitch, his face crumpling. “ _Please_. I want…I want to feel you.”

Lance makes a keening noise, and his hands skim down Shiro’s chest, and then freeze as Pidge calls, “Is that really all you want, Shirogane?”

Shiro goes still like a rabbit in the grass.

She lets him work through it. Another stripe on Keith’s ass. Another on the back of one thigh. His nails are scraping on the surface of the bench. Allura’s high-pitched whines as Hunk gets the clamps in place, just so, sing counterpoint with Keith’s strangled screams.

“Uh, sir,” Hunk calls over, and then stops, because Keith is starting to hiss _fuck fuck fuck fuck_ between his teeth, because that’s been six strokes. And the seventh is every bit as bad as he’d feared.

By the time Keith manages to draw breath, the seventh stripe is burning low on his right ass cheek and he’s punching the bench over and over. Not particularly hard, at least—which is a relief, she wouldn’t want him to bust up his own knuckles.

“Yes, Garrett?”

“Can I uh. Do the toe thing later? If, well if I’m going to move her?” Hunk looks a little overwhelmed—whether it’s at Keith’s splendid suffering or the task he’s been set with Allura, Pidge can’t quite tell. Maybe both.

“At your discretion.” Pidge lets Keith breathe a little longer before the eighth stroke comes down on the back of one thigh. “Do you require more detailed guidance, Garrett? Perhaps a brainstorming session, if you’re unsure what fantasy to enact on her?”

Hunk flushes and squares his jaw. “No please sir.”

“Very well.”

He falls to rummaging in the bag, then paces back, murmuring things quietly to Allura. Pidge lets him drop character; she knows Hunk can be a cautious top, and Allura’s been strictly bound and coming hard for long enough that it’s probably best to check in regardless. Pidge looks over at Shiro next; he’s sagging a little, head bowed, and Lance is returning the achingly soft affection, butting his forehead against his, running hands through his hair and down his back.

Which is not at _all_ what Shiro’s asked for. Pidge smiles sharply. Let Lance dig his own hole for the moment.

“Sir,” Shiro says after a few more slow strokes to Keith’s ass. “McClain can’t…under his own restrictions…”

“McClain is not the only person in this room, Shirogane,” Pidge says heavily. “Or are you looking for a chance to earn him mercy through some heartfelt appeal?”

Shiro twitches, looks away with a shadow on his face, and Pidge wonders if she’s struck a little too close to some raw nerve or another.

“Both of you,” Pidge says, a little more kindly, “have been given challenges for your specific benefit. Would you deny him that benefit?”

Shiro closes his eyes, relaxing a hair. Only a hair. “No, sir.”

“McClain,” Pidge calls.

Lance makes some wretchedly frustrated noise.

“Wait for my permission to satisfy him. Let’s see what he begs for. If he ever manages it.”

Lance nods, jerky, on a delay, and doesn’t take his hands off Shiro. Still digging his hole.

The fourteenth stroke lands, and Keith does twist away this time, hard. Not soon enough to miss the stroke, but it’s maybe not as solid as it could be, and he coils like a wounded animal a few feet away from Pidge, leaking pained noises between his teeth.

She’ll need to give him a relative break after this, she thinks. And she knows exactly what with. But in the meantime… “Kogane,” she says, low and firm, and taps the bench with the cane.

He doesn’t answer. Just glares at her, heaving deep breaths that rock him back and forth.

“Clear this mark off your record and there’s only five left. You going to turn back now?” Hit him in the machismo, always the first step.

He’s still for a moment, then shakes his head, teeth clenched.

“Do I need to strap you down?”

He shakes his head harder, teeth bared. For a moment, she feels like she sees an almost catlike glint off his eyes, a little shadowed by his mussed and sweaty hair.

She taps the bench again with her cane. Shiro’s watching her, she realizes, his concern for Keith overriding even Lance being all up in his face.

Slowly, face mostly hidden in his hair, Keith comes back.

She’s going to have to make sure Lance gets a very nice reward after this, she thinks. Affection, attention—she’s starving him. Deliberately, but still.

She smooths a palm over Keith’s ass as he settles back into position, wringing out a deliciously ragged moan. It serves more than one purpose—no, he’s not bleeding anywhere, just very red. He shoves his face into the bench and digs his fingers in like claws and after a long moment says, simple and rough, “Sir.”

Pidge’s heart grows about two sizes in her husky old colonel chest, and she answers him with his fifteenth stripe.

Hunk, she notices out of the corner of her eye, isn’t fishing in her toybag. Instead, he’s pulled down the space-box, the room’s emergency kit. After some rummaging, he shakes out a rescue harness, then and the high-strength line that goes with it. She bites down an actual _squeak_. Hunk’s going to hang Allura from the ceiling. After literally a month straight of claiming he didn’t want to be hung from the ceiling, not ever, god, what would give you _that_ idea, all while fussing about how to safely apply hard points to the ship’s cabins. _That asshole._

That asshole who somehow _knows_ she’s squeaking anyway and gives her an incredibly baleful glare out of the corner of his eye.

Pidge smirks like a cat with a canary and stripes Keith’s ass for punctuation.

Shiro’s still working through what he wants, murmuring things to Lance that she can’t quite catch.

Hunk is unfixing Allura’s wrists, lifting her like a limp rag to sit, and shushing her as she squirms, smoothing her arm down from where she’d tried to wipe the drool off her chin like he’s handling a fussing cat. She must not be trying very hard, Pidge supposes. He straps her into the rescue harness in the time it takes Keith to recover from a cane stroke—well, the things are designed to pretty much apply themselves. Then spends rather longer fussing over it, tightening it down, making sure it rides just so around her breasts. It does frame them quite nicely. He pulls her wrists up behind her, keys the cuffs to the harness, and that arches her back a little and makes her breasts stand out even more. Quick, effective, resourceful. Pidge bites back the instinct to say it; the Colonel hasn’t exactly been lavish with praise so far.

Keith is starting to whisper curses under his breath like a prayer, like a mantra, as she nears the last stroke of the set. Pidge files away the fact that Hunk is using a cuff magnetized to the ceiling as a hard point—which means, knowing him, he’s probably tested it thoroughly before entrusting a helplessly bound teammate to it—and focuses entirely on Keith.

He screams. He bucks off the bench, sags to the floor. The third stripe is painfully close to the other two, low on his right ass cheek. He slaps a palm on the floor, several times. No rhythm. Strained to the limit. But not safewording.

 

* * *

 

Seventeenth set. Time for a break. And before Pidge had started experimenting with what every strip of material she and Hunk had lying around the workshop might feel like on one’s ass, she would not have assumed a quarter-inch thick steel rod would be a break, but in fact, in this context, it is. She never exactly swings the thing, of course. Maybe six inches, only into solid muscle, never near bones—which on Keith is a much narrower target area than, say, Hunk. But used like that, it’s a deep, _deep_ thud. Overwhelming, but not nearly as painful as some other things.

Keith sees it and pretty much flattens himself into a puddle on the floor with a groan.

“Appreciating your break this time, Kogane?” she asks cheerfully, squatting beside him.

Keith just moans, shaky. Keeps moaning, dropping an octave and hitching with the blow as she hits him, carefully aimed, not too hard. Not too light either. After a few strokes, he’s limp-ragging again, no fighting her any longer, face turned to one side and hazed. One hand curled vaguely next to his cheek, mouth hanging open, skin sweat-damp.

“Tha…thank…” he manages. Another stroke. “Thank you…sir…”

“There you go,” Pidge purrs. So close to just dropping a _good boy_. No, he needs to finish the challenge. You need to _earn_ it from the Colonel.

“Fuck me,” Shiro breathes, without preamble.

For a moment, there’s almost complete silence. Even Hunk, in the middle of uncoiling some rope—oh boy, rope too—turns to look at him. Shiro’s eyes are closed, his head bowed, his voice hoarse, and every word is wrung out of him. “Lance, or—or anyone you want, sir. O…” He stalls out. Swallows hard. “Open me up and take me. Right here, in front of everyone. Please. Please, god. There’s nothing I want more.”

Pidge drops the seventh stroke onto Keith’s happy spot—well, unhappy spot for him, happy for her—and studies Shiro as Keith growls and squirms against the floor, pushed beyond limp-rag for a moment. “How, Shirogane?”

“Please,” is all he answers.

“Fast and rough? Slow and inexorable? Do you want to be bound? Collared? In a pretty dress? _Specificity_ , cadet.”

Shiro’s breathing a little faster, and there’s a dismissive huff at the pretty dress. Which is probably good, she might not have anything that fits him. “Slow,” he manages. “Don’t—don’t bind me, please.”

Keith melts again as she starts the second batch of seven. “Nothing happens unless you beg for it,” Pidge reminds Shiro, low and absolute.

It takes a few more more strokes for him to scrape together some details. Lance is squeezing his hand. Hunk has paused, murmuring something to Allura, and looks thoroughly indecisive as he smooths a hand down her face, rubs his thumb along her stretched lips.

“Slow,” Shiro says again. “Please. So I feel every bit of it. So I…so everyone can see…how much I need it.” Pidge feels her heart grow _another_ size—god, the self-control Shiro’s stripping away right now. “Please put a collar on me, sir. Please, if I’ve been good enough. I want to be good enough.” He finally manages to open his eyes, just a bare moment, and his gaze _burns_ with stifled desire.

“You’re getting there.” She gives Keith another thunk with the steel rod. “I’m going to commandeer your help with Kogane shortly. When you’re done with him, you’ll get everything you asked for. And whatever more you come up with in the meantime. McClain, you get over here too.” She eyes Hunk. “Garrett, you got something you need to ask me?”

Hunk’s jaw works, and without meeting her eyes, he asks, “Which is more important? The stuff I’m doing to her, or…or uh, the other…” He waves a hand vaguely. “Can I blindfold her, sir?”

“Is it important?” Pidge prods. It would change a certain aspect of Allura’s scene, certainly. But she’s certainly had a nice while of being painfully aware of her own exposure, and Pidge did hand her over to Hunk, after all. Shiro’s going to have enough eyes on him, and she doubts the most out of it of them all is going to change his equation much.

“I—well, I like—I want her to feel things. In that way…that thing where if you’re blindfolded your whole skin tingles and everything else feels more intense, you know that thing?”

Pidge files that away smugly. Sure, she’d figured out he likes blindfolds, but not that it’s a big enough kink enough to bother his superior officer about. Also she’s never blindfolded and gagged him at once. Mmm, data. “Very well, Garrett.”

Hunk leaves the rope draped over his arm and goes to find out a black strip of something that Pidge knows is velvet soft and utterly opaque. He smooths Allura’s hair down tenderly, blindfolds her with great and meticulous care. Blind and speechless, harnessed and bound and clamped, still dripping down her thighs, Allura makes little whining noises and shuffles her feet. She’s standing now, harness on a line to the cuff on the ceiling, but he hasn’t taken up the slack and pulled her up yet. Though she can’t quite put her heels down. Her ankle cuffs and the remains of her uniform are gone. It’s a nice look.

Shiro and Lance have both shuffled dutifully over to her by now. Up close, she can see the flush spreading from Shiro’s ears down his neck, the way his belly flutters as he tries to breathe steadily around his sheer exposure.

“You’re getting there, Shirogane,” she says, throwing him a bone. “When I’m done with this set, roll Kogane on his back and hold his legs open for me. I need his inner thighs, and I don’t need him thrashing around. His balls might not appreciate it.”

Keith _whines_ , a line of tension disturbing his boneless union with the floor. His inner thighs are fiendishly sensitive, as he well knows. So does Pidge. So does Shiro, who swallows, eyes widening a touch, and nods. “Yes, sir.”

His voice—god, his voice is husky, wrecked, glorious. She vaguely feels like other people might be a little gentler, reverential, being offered this much of Shiro’s well-wrapped-up lizard-brain desires. This much power over him. But—but he knows her. He’s giving it to her now, like this, while she’s being a grumbly old asshole. Might be downright disrespectful to get all mushy now, and besides, she’s really not very good at it.

Lance is all pleading blue eyes, and she hopes like hell she isn’t pushing too hard on this, because by all rights she’s going to need to keep starving him for a bit. “McClain. Did you have permission to touch Shirogane that much?”

Lance bristles, rightfully afraid, and sounds like he’s protesting that Shiro asked and everything.”

“ _Specificity_ ,” Pidge says again, as heavily as the fourteenth blow landing on Keith’s spot.

“Please, sir,” Shiro starts, and it dies at the look on her face.

“You control what happens to you,” Pidge says, almost kindly, “not to him. McClain, unbutton your jacket.” Lance bows his head and, with great reluctance, undoes it rather slowly. Pidge considers delegating to Shiro—but no, he’s already thinking it’s his fault Lance’s touchy ass is in trouble, there’s enough of that. And she has enough sundries in her pockets to make him unhappy. “Await your punishment,” she says.

_Uck_ , Lance says behind his tape.

 

* * *

 

Eighteenth set. Thin, feather-light whippy bit of plastic. Not heavy enough to do the kind of damage a cane does. All sting, teasing. Warm-up toy.

Keith is thoroughly pinned under Shiro’s weight and floating hand, trapped on his—still quite tender—back with his legs hiked up and spread wide. It gives a lovely view of his hardening cock, the red welts still on his chest. She can see the very tips of some of her handiwork on the backs of his legs, but the pale lines of his inner thighs are entirely unmarked. His feet kick helplessly. He whines behind his teeth as she folds her free hand over his dick—clinical, practical, not any affection in the gesture—and sets to work. More shivery anticipation than real pain with this thing, but it’s stirring up sensation, readying him for the rest.

Lance is kneeling nearby, face hot with shame and frustration, hands cuffed behind his back, jacket shoved open, and clamps set on his flat little nipples. They’re not even tied to anything—she was being nice. He’ll stay like that until she’s done with Keith—that’s his punishment for getting handsy with Shiro. She really is going to have to throw him a bone at _some_ point though.

Hunk has picked up one of Allura’s shapely bare legs and lashed her ankle quite securely to that thigh, folding it up like a frog’s. And stuck another cuff to the ceiling. He pulls the line, lifting her leg up behind her, and she squeaks as she tips forward against the harness, bare toes scrabbling desperately for what little floor she has left. He soothes her, snugs an arm around her waist as she starts to trust the harness. Then he uncoils more rope. Picks up her other leg, and the ground falls out of her narrowed awareness, and she gives a breathless gasp. She always did love flying, Pidge thinks, and grins.

Shiro, biting his lip, holds Keith tender and unyielding, and does not yet dare beg for more.

 

* * *

 

Nineteenth set. A rubbery strap. Not heavy like that brutal paddle from before. About belt-weight. Stingier, maybe, because of the material. Not exactly Keith’s favorite sort of thing, especially on so tender a spot, and he breathes a curse and struggles in Shiro’s grip as she brings it out.

Shiro, implacable, bears down and holds him snug. Lance, close enough to see all the details, is wincing in sympathy, but his eyes keep tracking down to Keith’s dick, half-hard already and heating under Pidge’s hand even as he struggles and yelps. The strap makes a really satisfying _crack_ with each blow, answered by ratcheting-up shouts from Keith as soft splashes of pink rise on his thighs.

Pidge feels a knot of driving excitement and fascination curling in her belly. The twenty-one sets are nearly over. Has she ever pushed him quite this far before? She wants to see him break and cry. He’s said he wanted to go there, when they were talking about what might happen during Colonel Gunderson’s review. But that should be the last set. She wants to push him over that edge right at the end, so she doesn’t need to stop early. Though she can always keep going if she needs to, set some different sort of challenge once he’s cleared his imaginary disciplinary marks…how close is she to the end of his real stamina? How likely is she to just wear him out without pushing him over that edge?

Hunk has Allura well in hand, humming to himself as he tweaks the three lines holding her secure, like he’s working on an engineering project. Frog-legged, thighs spread wide, pussy completely exposed. He hasn’t got her at crotch height, though he might be able to change that relatively easily. No, she’s at a comfortable working height for him, cunt at mid-chest. He’d only need crouch a little to eat her out. She’s making aimless little noises, drifting. Lance, when he’s not staring at Keith’s dick, is staring at her with naked and bewildered lust—who knows whether he wants to be her or fuck her or bury his face in her pussy and never come up for air. Probably all three, knowing Lance.

Pidge puts her full swing into the twenty-first blow, and Keith yells, high-pitched and sharp-edged, feet kicking in thin air.

 

* * *

 

Twentieth set.

Keith stops breathing the moment she pulls the toy out of the bag. “Fuck, fuck fuck fuck you fuck a duck fuck the entire lion you rode in on fuck those six fish in particular Jesus fucking Christ.”

It’s two loops of plastic-coated steel cable, the heavy-duty stuff Hunk uses for machine wiring, nested one inside another and bolted onto a handle. Simple. Brutal. Pretty much a rugbeater. Keith’s the only person Pidge knows who doesn’t safeword at the sight of it, but even he wouldn’t take it on his inner thighs as a first choice.

“Aw, man, the fish didn’t do anything to you,” Hunk says breezily, and then he looks over his shoulder and his eyes widen. “Okay, yeah, legit, that’s _mean_.”

“You can do this,” Shiro murmurs, almost subliminal, like it’s a spinal reflex to reassure Keith when he’s this rattled.

“Stay on target, Garrett,” Pidge tosses off. “Unless you’re courting punishment.”

The rugbeater brandished in his direction is a remarkable incentive. Hunk gulps, barks a _yes, sir_ , and goes back to the finicky business of threading twine through Allura’s nipple clamps as she whines and shudders in her harness.

Keith turns his face into his arm and bites his lip, hard, since he’s got no jacket left to chew on. Shiro’s doing the rubbing-a-circle-with-his-thumb thing again, this time with the floating hand pinning one of Keith’s knees wide open.

“Two more sets, Kogane,” Pidge says, and Keith whines, draws a deep breath like he’s bracing himself, digs one of his kicking heels into the floor.

He screams on the first blow.

Pidge keeps the pace steady, a little fast. She’ll take whatever time with the last set she needs—this is just a merciless wall of pain, pushing him right to the edge of his tolerance. He doesn’t really stop screaming. Out of the corner of her eye, in little slices of time, she notices Lance watching him in horrified sympathy, Hunk pulling one of Allura’s feet up flexed to tie the string from her toes, Allura bucking and whimpering as he lets go and every little movement of her foot pulls on her nipple, Shiro’s eyes locked on Keith’s face wide and reverent.

By the time she hits twenty-one, Keith is hiccuping after each shout, struggling to breathe, and Pidge gives him just a bare moment to gather himself before she says, “Shirogane, pull his legs up.” A hand gesture. “Fold him in half.”

 

* * *

 

Twenty-first set. The cane in her boot, set aside from the start. Keith’s ass and thighs, spattered with a glorious variety of red and pink marks, are laid out before her, painfully exposed by the position he’s in. The position that makes any impact play hurt all that much more, amplified by the stretch of muscles and skin. This cane’s organic, some bamboo-like space grass she’d picked up and oiled and polished at some point, and almost as brutal as the heavy whippy plastic one she’d gone at him with earlier, but with more sting and texture, at least by her own experiments on her own thighs in the past.

Keith’s hands scrabble for purchase against Shiro’s legs, and Shiro lets him have it without a sound, even as his nails leave pink lines and his fingers dig deep into his muscles.

Hunk and Lance are both watching, entranced. Hunk is almost absentmindedly playing with Allura’s cunt as he does, big warm fingers teasing her clit and dipping inside to make her groan.

The first stripe leaves Keith howling, a long wail as he processes the rush of heat in the aftermath. She lets him digest it. Paints a second. A third right on its heels. Uneven now. Stringing him along, not giving him a chance to anticipate anything. Except for the seventh landing hard on his spot, now purpling angrily.

He screams like the damned when that one hits.

She keeps up the uneven pace. Eight. Nine-ten. Pause. Eleven-twelve. Thirteen. He quivers, panting fast between his teeth, knowing exactly what’s coming.

Fourteen. Nearly as hard as she dares on his spot.

Finally, perfectly, his scream cracks on a sob. Just one, then his breath catches like he’s afraid to let another out. The fifteenth stroke dislodges it along with his wail. She can see his chest jerking, his hands clinging to Shiro like a drowning man’s.

“Oh wow,” Hunk breathes in awe. “Holy shit. He’s crying, Allura, he’s like actually legit crying…”

It’s pretty out of line. Pidge doesn’t notice, doesn’t care, not right now. Pretty much everything’s narrowed down to Keith. She’s—terrified, she realizes, a little belatedly. She’s never taken him this far before, nor anybody. Not like this. What if she fucks up, what if she doesn’t bring him down right, what if he realizes he didn’t want to cry in front of everybody—no, shit, no, she’s got to carry this through…

The sixteenth stripe goes onto him as her little gremlin heart clenches with something like divine love and adoration. She takes it slow now, lets him ride out each one as he sobs into his elbow. His face is hidden—he probably likes it that way—his cries wet and jerky. “Five more,” she breathes, and gives him another stroke. Counting down. Four. Three. Two.

“Oh god,” he hiccups. “Oh god.”

“One more, Kogane. One left out of four hundred and forty. You have no way to stop it from happening. You need it.”

“Yes,” he chokes out, barely audible. “Yes.”

One last stroke. On his spot. And she makes it a very, very good one. It rocks him to his toes, wrings out one last cry that’s somewhere between agony and exultation.

“You can let him go, Shirogane,” she murmurs, rocking back and setting the cane carefully aside on the bench.

Shiro lets him go. Keith shudders, folds both arms over his face, rolls onto his side with little jerky whines of pain as his legs settle. Shiro reels his arm back into its normal position, lets Keith wrap around his legs, settles a hand almost cautiously in his hair.

“Kogane,” Pidge says, low and firm.

Keith sobs in protest, arms tightening.

“Cadet Kogane. Look at me.”

He twitches again, then says, almost plaintive, “I can’t, sir, I’m…”

“Sshh,” Pidge says, and squats right near him, reaches to nudge his hands out of the way, take his chin, turn his face to the light. She can feel Shiro’s eyes on her, watchful. She doesn’t blame him. _Don’t fuck this up, don’t fuck this up._

Keith is blotchy-faced and not pretty at all when he cries, and Pidge feels a double stab of sadistic triumph and sheer terror that she’s cracked him open like this, and there’s a look in his eyes like she’s never seen, and he croaks, “I’m sorry—”

“None of that, Cadet. Your twenty-one marks have been purged. Your record’s clear. Clean start. You’ve earned it.” She puts all the weight she can into her words. “Nobody is going to hold any of that against you ever again.”

Keith’s eyes widen, and for a moment he’s stock-still, breath caught in his throat, as that sinks in.

Then he turns his face back into his arms with another sob, and that one sounds a lot more like relief.

“Thank you,” Shiro breathes, without even adding the sir, and settles a hand between Keith’s shoulderblades, steadying him as he empties out.

“Yeah,” Pidge says. There’s not much Colonel in her voice at this low volume. Not that this is the Colonel talking. “Take care of him for a bit.”

**Author's Note:**

> I has a [tumblr](http://letterblade.tumblr.com)


End file.
